This is how Greta sleeps. I have no idea how she breathes. We were all tucked in tonight when I knew that I had either wet my pants, or she had. Yup, Greta is getting older. Peeing on me, it seems, is how she is handling her geriatric years. So now here we are. I am up. Freshly bathed. There are twenty-eight minutes left until it is Monday again. Jesus. 

The weekend, in review:

Friday night: Drank water while I watched William play his first volleyball game of the season. They lost by two points, but it was still kind of thrilling because last year, I am pretty sure they never even made it to double digits. Came home, watched an episode of The Good Wife (or at least the part Lizzie rewound to show me, “Mom, watch this. She is about to kick his ass”). Lizzie would be a great trial attorney. Is it weird that when I think that I also think, “Oh, yuck. Don’t be a lawyer. So much boring reading . . .” How come when I think about Lizzie being a lawyer I worry about how she might also be able to be a mom? I do not do that with the boys.

Saturday: Six A.M. wake up call to drive Luke to Waukesha to do some volunteer work for Healing Hearts. We had coffee with my Aunt Sue first and then they went off to work while I wandered through the farmers market along the river. Farmers markets are my most favorite of all places. I bought lettuce and a cucumber and ten dollars worth of really tart apples. I could have just stayed there all morning, watching the farmers unload their goods, stack up vegetables, handmade soaps, bright flowers . . . I feel happiest when I surround myself with people who also make things with their hands. Perhaps at the next faculty meeting, we should all make paper fans or something. 

Came home, did laundry, got distracted my how dirty the toilet was. Washed toilet. Took Lizzie and her friend Anna to watch her eighth grade volleyball team play a double hitter in Germantown. It stormed like mad and the lights in the gym went out, causing twenty thirteen year old girls to scream, the air conditioner to go out, and me to sigh at the thirty minute delay. I am pretty sure I walked Quinn to the bathroom about forty times during the delay alone. 

So after three hours of volleyball we went to Culver’s drive thru so that Lizzie could eat something before she fainted. I ate a chicken strip and I will warn you right now that if you forego all sugar for four months and then eat a fast food chicken tender, prepare yourself for a killer headache and a long afternoon in the bathroom. 

Between things, I somehow dropped William off in Waukesha at a friend’s house (I know, Sue, you are thinking, “But wait, I picked him up in Waukesha for you,”) and then stopped at Brookfield Square to get my free sample of Aveda hairspray, which I only did because, well, it was free, and I had a good parking spot. While there, I tried on a pair of really cute and comfortable shoes, but when I looked in that little mirror where you can only see your ankles, the first word that came to mind was “hobbit.” 

I returned home and closed my eyes for exactly seven minutes while Quinn napped. Sean volunteered to stay home, so Luke and I drove to New Berlin to see Jobs. I tried to take Luke’s picture, eating his popcorn, but he told me to stop documenting every second of his existence. I left, super inspired, and kind of in love with Ashton Kutcher, who really did a fine job playing Jobs. 

Left movie and thought I might meet Adrianne for a drink at Tosa Fest, but it was getting late and parking was tricky and I found it difficult to drive through drunk crowds after just seeing such a quiet film, so I left and met her for coffee in the morning instead. 

That brings us to Sunday, which has been relatively uneventful. Groceries, drove Dad to train station, battery light in car went on (but off again later… is that okay?), more laundry, homework help, printer out of ink again (fuck, Epson, really, you only sell my ink online?), Target run, baked cookies and cute little banana muffins (which smelled good, but I cannot eat), dinner, gin drinking (out of vodka), and the long struggle to put Quinn to bed after he took a four hour nap during dinner. He fell asleep. Then the dog peed on me. 

In between all of the chasing and watching of volleys, I started to think about my show and paintings have started to take shape in my head. I asked Sean if I could use his studio to paint in and he said I could use the bathroom space only. These will be very small paintings. 

That is okay. They can capture all of the things I forgot to write about, like how I thought Greta ran away, but really she was hiding under the deck, getting sick. The painting won’t literally show this, but will begin a conversation about dying and love and about feeling that happens when one crawls into bed next to a snoring toddler and a wheezing dog. That white noise lulls me to sleep each night and it is in that white noise that I begin to imagine and dream and push myself to dream bigger. It is in that space, even when it is interrupted by dog pee, that I know I am an artist.